


fiducia | Ranboo | Dream SMP

by AlexandraMariaAnna



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 3 am in poland baby i dont care, Gen, i am literally speedrunning this, i need to get this out of my head, i will conk out in the morning, oh god ranboo sir you deserve an oscar and a half for this stream i am so glad i didnt go to sleep, sorry for the typos ill fix them in the morning, the usual not a native speaker tag, tw blood, tw execution, tw violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraMariaAnna/pseuds/AlexandraMariaAnna
Summary: Fiducia (lat.); trust, firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something.----End of the road. He knew this would happen, but his chest is still burning.Does he not deserve an ever-home?(Imaginative scenario for the second L'Manburg Festival. Might contain mentally disturbing content.)
Relationships: n/a
Comments: 12
Kudos: 246





	fiducia | Ranboo | Dream SMP

_Ah._  
_So this was it._

The scent of concrete, the salt of his tears he didn’t even know he could shed; they burned against his skin, akin to rain that he feared so much. He has never cried before. It was an odd sensation, to cry - there was something burning behind his eyes, in his head, in his chest, and it was leaking, leaving his body in a stream of water, leaving him empty. Ranboo couldn’t feel the pain of the skin on his cheeks melting away, however, for adrenaline has long taken away the privilege of feeling anything.

He stared at the scene in front of him, vision obscured by two panes of yellow. He heard about something that went exactly the same way - Tubbo told him one night, as they were sitting on a bench overlooking L’Manburg, about his execution. Surrounded by yellow concrete, with a crossbow aimed at his chest, he was a martyr for the revolution, a spark that set the final resistance in motion.

What was Ranboo then? Could he consider himself a martyr? To whom? To what case?

Thousands of thoughts ran through his head in a single moment, and he watched wordlessly, his mouth dry and lips cracked, and his head was spinning, and his chest was heavy. He wanted out, he needed out. His long thin fingers wrapped around the bars and he shook them once, then twice. They didn’t budge; of course they wouldn’t budge, they were made to keep him confined. 

A cage worthy of a traitor.

“Ranboo,” Tubbo spoke, his face barely visible from where he was located by the microphone. “You’re a great writer, you know? I love your writing style, and you should consider writing a novel, really!” he smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Ranboo’s pupils dilated. 

He was done. Done. Gone. 

“Ah, but the subject of your writing is a bit disturbing.” Tubbo continued his small speech, and Quackity shifted in his spot, avoiding eye contact. “I think it would better suit you to write down legends and fairytales. The main character of this book-” the president took out a thin notebook from his pocket, one with a familiar ribbon and leather cover. Ranboo felt his heart stop. “-seems like a rather bad fellow.”  
“I’ve… I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Ranboo spoke, but it came out more like a rasp than coherent human speech. Maybe if he could say it with his whole chest it would have more of an impact, but at that moment it sounded like a defensive whine of a defeated animal, awaiting its unlucky fate at the teeth of a predator.   
“Ranboo,” Tubbo interjected, and there was no emotion in his voice. It was so different from his usual cheerful tone, that Ranboo shivered, goosebumps covering his entire body from head to toe. “I’ve been lied to enough. Tell me the truth or shut up.”  
“Yeah, tell him, Mr. President!” Quackity cheered, waving to the empty stands in front of the podium, the only spot taken by a relaxed figure in green, their keen eyes taking in the entire show on the stage. 

Ranboo’s lips tightened until they became a straight line. That was it.  
That was it.

That was it.

“So you won’t speak. Good. In a way, that allows you to keep a bit of your ‘moral backbone’ as you called it in this here book.” the president muttered and turned to Quackity. “For the crime of betraying your home country, distributing weapons and armor to a war criminal, as well as aiding in their prolonged hiding from justice and passing on confidential information to the enemies of the state, you are hereby sentenced to imprisonment,” he said, and there was something in Ranboo’s chest that both died and woke up. A glimmer of hope, for living in imprisonment was better than losing one’s life forever. Before he could even nod, however, Quackity made his way over to Tubbo in a few long strides.  
“No, no, Tubbo. That’s not gonna fucking cut it.” Quackity spoke, his eyes snapping to Ranboo’s figure, hunched within the concrete tomb. “They’re just gonna break him out, these buddies of his,” he added, and there was a spark of recognition in Tubbo’s expression, mixed with anger and disappointment. “Tommy is just going to break him out. Remember the book? They’re friends!”

That was it.  
That was it.  
That was it.  
That was it.

It was getting hard to breathe.

“We’re fine,” Ranboo mumbled to himself. “We’re okay.”

He wasn’t.

“What do you propose then?” Tubbo asked, and Quackity smiled with a smile that wasn’t quite his own. He turned back to the empty stands, and, having taken a deep breath, yelled out, his voice melting with the ringing in Ranboo’s ears, and yet the words were so clear when he spat them out, his voice raspy, as if he was hungover and running on three hours of sleep. Ranboo swore the air reeked of whiskey as he registered the words that hung in the air like evening stars.  
“Yo, Dream! Get your ass up here, I need a little hand!”  
Surprisingly enough, Dream obliged, stretching like a cat before making his way to the podium in a couple of quick jumps. His presence, mixed with the scent of alcohol, the setting sun, the dark clouds that were gathering on the horizon, and the small, almost unnoticeable dot of a figure watching from a distant rooftop made Ranboo’s head spin in a way that made the concrete mix with the moisture in the air creating a thick fog that pierced his lungs. Dream looked in his direction, and for a second he saw his own reflection in his mask, a tired, sweaty, terrified boy - how old was he? He never thought about it, he didn’t remember. If Tommy was there he would tell him that he’s definitely younger. Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. Was he the figure on the rooftop? Would he help him? 

Does he also consider him a friend, like Ranboo considers Tommy one? They exchanged letters, he visited him in exile, he endangered his safety for his entertainment; surely, this was what a friend would do?

The figure was gone when he looked again.

 _Ah._  
He was crying. This time the pain was actually real and vivid. He wanted to go home, to sit in the corner of his little attic and write until the rain subsided and until the sun warmed up the air. His chest burned and his heart felt like it would fall to pieces if he moved - with a start, Ranboo realized that he was scared, terrified even. It wasn’t the same type of fear he faced when ambushing Technoblade at his home, nor the same he felt when he nearly lost his life to arrows shot at him. It was primal, raw, and it made all of his muscles tense at the same times, urging him to run and seek shelter. Still, the bars cut him off from solace, and he remained on the floor, down on his knees, looking at Dream who just stood there and waited.

Quackity coughed.  
“Dream, I know we have had our differences-” He started, and Dream rolled his eyes so obviously that you could tell without needing to remove the mask. “-but this L’Manburg is a completely different city now. We abide by the rules. We keep our shit to ourselves. We don’t burn houses down.”  
“Good. Great job.” Dream cut in, and Quackity visibly deflated a bit, annoyed at his grand speech being interrupted.  
“Like I was saying, we’re a different city. Because of that, we would also like to make our relations with you, with the Dream SMP a bit warmer.” he shook his head, and Dream cocked his head to the side curiously. “We would like to give you the honor of executing the traitor to L’Manburg. A friendship signed in blood is one that will last the longest.”

Ranboo felt faint; had he not already been on his knees he would have collapsed. 

Surprisingly enough, Tubbo was the one to step in.  
“Big Q, don’t you think this is going a little bit too far? It’s a festival-” he tried to rationalize, but Quackity was on him before he could finish.   
“Shut up. Literally, shut up. You can never fucking decide what to do and look where this got you. No one is here. You’re alone. And you’re gonna be even more alone if you don’t grow the fuck up.” Quackity turned back to Dream, leaving Tubbo with a blank expression on his face. “Shoot him Dream. Right here, on this fucking stage; let bygones be bygones.”   
A crossbow appeared in Dream’s hand. Quackity grinned even wider. 

Ranboo looked back at the building. The rooftop was still empty, and he was starting to believe that there was no one ever there. There was no one coming for him, no one willing to stand up to three influential people for his sake. Tommy. If Tommy was there, he would help, he would stand up for him, he did before -   
“I’m sorry,” he said, against his better judgment, the words barely audible over the thundering of the rain against the roof. When did it start pouring? “I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” he spoke again, and Tubbo turned away so as not to look at him. If there was any hope left, it was gone now, and Ranboo’s brain shut down completely, unable to think of an escape.

“Thanks for sticking around Ranboo.” Dream said, and Ranboo didn’t even attempt to meet his gaze. “Exit stage left.”

A projectile ripped through his chest, and for a second he didn’t even feel the pain, just surprising warmth, enveloping his body like June sun. He remembered smiling faces. He would have to put that June evening in his memory book later, it was such a pleasant experience. The air smelled like honey and gunpowder.  
Then, his chest ripped apart, and he took a deep breath, as he grabbed at his chest, attempting to stop the bleeding. The peaceful warmth began burning, scalding his flesh, becoming unbearable with every second, seeping through his fingers and down his clothes, there was June in his blood but the air around him reeked of January, and there were lights dancing in front of his eyes as he felt his body begin to give up. 

Tubbo was still looking away from the scene, and Quackity cheered loudly, his voice melting into the cacophony of fireworks. Dream dismissed the crossbow and gave Ranboo what he could only decipher as a look of pity before he clasped Q’s hand in a tight shake. 

A new era of L’Manburg.

These words were oddly familiar, Ranboo thought, as he felt into a silent slumber, his last breath melting into the January air. Why was it raining in January anyway? To spite him? To mock him in his final moments? He deserved that. He was getting what he deserved.

_He’ll go north when he wakes up, as far as he can. There won’t have to be any goodbyes when he won’t have to say hello._

**Author's Note:**

> WATCH RANBOO FOR CLEAR SKIN AND BOUNTIFUL CROPS.  
> I think I said enough in tags, but the last stream was so absolutely and utterly heartwrenching that I just had to get these words out of my head. If you want to scream at me, find me @SummoningFailed on Twitter, I will sob in your DM's. 
> 
> Q: Why would Quackity want to kill Ranboo?  
> A: This man is more and more unhinged with every passing moment; he's ready to do anything to 'make a country', such as picking a fight with Techno, planing to assassinate Dream, trying to blame Eret for Karl's death - if there was profit to Ranboo's death he would have done it. Besides, who are we kidding, he's definitely getting that sweet Schlatt possession from the body he dug up. And we already know how Schlatt was.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and stay safe.  
> The festival is probably going to be rough.


End file.
